


Endless

by ChocoSand



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: A sort of Pinning, Dark, Gen, Hints of Ruvic, Macabre, Mind Games, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoSand/pseuds/ChocoSand
Summary: A partnership is endurance.Joseph Oda, partner to detective Sebastian Castellanos, was exposed to the mans trials and endurance through his life. And still, he must watch the man endure further, even if it means he is now the one whom must persevere by endless patience.A kindly illustrated short story.





	Endless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delina/gifts).



> Welcome!  
> Firstly, thank you SongOfMarbule for reading and editing this for me. It means so much and your advice was wonderful!  
> Secondly, thank you Del for illustrating this work. It was so very kind of you and I adore what you have done, it helps give to the feel of it.
> 
> This work was based on a dream I had, and I could not remove it so easily till it was written! That said...
> 
> I often write with inspiration from the musings of old English writers, and much of my macabre tastes come from old gothic horror. I tried to convey such in this story, and so I hope it too inspires and fills you with a sense of beauty in darkness and horror.

We found ourselves in another hidden and estranged room.

It was stuffy; were it not for habit of adjusting my glasses, they would have slipped off my nose from sweat. In my sudden discomfort, I came to notice that even my shirt and vest felt weighted, having grown damp from exertion. The gun nestled so safely and familiarly against my ribs grew foreign, and suddenly I was too aware of the burden in having a badge pinned to my holster.  
I looked around—confident that my partner too was orienting himself. There was a table in the center of the room; bathed in a warm glow from a rusted, hanging industrial light. Not a speck of dust present proved that it had been used. Maps hammered into rock walls gave us some sort of idea where we may have been and what awaited us outside once we escaped. Here and there I heard our heels scuff against wood that had been pressed into the stone or clay. It was silent, and the air was stale, our breath laboured and easy to hear within the eerie silence.

There were boxes nestled in shelves and stacked like pyramids on the ground, filled to the brim with jars and cans. Tools and medical kits worn with age and some used—it was apparent the rats had their fill of the provisions and potentially sought out medicines for sustenance as well. Their decayed remains, though embraced in shadows, were still plenty strewn about. Our only guiding light was still hung dutifully over the table and the meager lantern that my partner had clung to, I couldn’t blame him. The sensation of the room felt abandoned, suffocating, and yet melancholy with echoes of resilience now gone.

Whomever this particular person—the homeowner—was, had an affinity for rooms that served the purpose of storage or war-like tactics. Then again, almost every room that Sebastian and I had found prior seemed more and more distant from a sane mind and closer to a paranoid one.

  
“Joseph, help me look around for clues,” grunted Sebastian.

I could tell he was enervated, appearing stressed and consumed with an urgency. The youth and charisma typically present upon his face was replaced with a tightness, his voice strained with nerves. Given our current situation and the mask of shadows offered in this cavern of a room, he appeared far older.

  
“Sure,” I complied. With a click to signal the use of my flashlight, I began my search. Distantly, I heard Sebastian begin his own investigations, rummaging through forgotten fabrics piled over objects in hopes of keeping them safe. Coughs of boxes ripping open was frequent; quick and desperate..

Momentarily I lapsed, noting something amiss during our search. The sensation or feeling of being watched; a prickling washed over me, and it was deeply unnerving. Nevertheless, this was something we were used to -- expected even; how many times had we been surprised or ambushed on the case?

Focusing on the little nook of space that was hidden in the shadows prior, I found the tip of my shoe kick something in innocent passing; an old and well worn journal. It wasn’t there before, I was sure. Transfixed, I knelt; something in me hungered with a need to pick it up.

And so I did.

I cradled that personal book with a tenderness that given our situation, surprised me. My fingers shook with nerves, worried that in some manner or another I may bring harm to the journal. Or perhaps my nerves were fraught with the fear that I had stumbled upon something I shouldn’t have. But I opened it regardless, carefully, with my heart wild, breath held, and trembled with exhale—my shoulders and posture were tense. Whatever was inside, I didn’t want Sebastian to see. I was eager and selfish; I wanted to make that discovery first.

Most of the pages contained scribbles of a fair handwritten confession. Pressed flowers tucked into the crease and personal thoughts; something tugged at my senses. I had a good hunch to who this journal belonged to. The trapped series of polaroids revealed too vividly who the owner was.

  
I wanted to keep it for myself.

But I couldn’t. I could not keep this from Sebastian—it was his late wife's journal.

  
Cautiously, I braved a glance over my shoulder. I had to make sure Sebastian was okay; his mind preoccupied with the task of searching for clues and not wary from my stilled silence. He was looking around the furniture with aggravation and gloom.

Unconsciously I exhaled with relief; he was still with me.

After a time, my thoughts were broken by the faint chirp of metal. I glanced down to see that a filigree of a key had fallen from the book’s pages. Kneeling, I took a closer look.

Admiration consumed me. The detail of pressed design was magnificent; stark and bright against my black leather glove. A magnolia, from what I could tell, and the perfect size to fit into my pocket. I would keep this souvenir for myself as I gathered my composure; the key safely tucked away.

As greedy as I was to keep the key to myself, it would be cruel of me to keep a memento of Sebastian's wife from him.

“Hey, Sebastian,” I called with a turn. “I think I found something that might interest you.”

He gave a cough of acknowledgement, a groan with a rise and turn towards me as I left the book on the table for him. A shy smile crept across my lips, followed by a nod towards my discovery.

His overworked eyes looked down to the book and widened with filtering realization as to what he stared at. Quickly his gaze flittered up to me, but I knew it was to see where I had just come from and exactly where I had found it, and not me.

Sebastian approached the table, his steps slow with the crunch of clay beneath his oxford. The lantern placed adjacent to the book had bathed it in a tender orange glow, making the discovery seem much more ethereal. He was nervous. I bore witness to the way his hands trembled beneath the weight of the book, opening it with a quiver, and thumbing through the pages carefully’ his eyes pinched and his lips pulled back in a seething grimmance rather than a smile as the memories consumed him.

Plenty had I observed and watched this mourning, this ritual of indulging in pain and pleasure to memories-- I could linger no more.

“I found something that might help us.” I paused with a clear of my throat--I did not dare to break this trance, but I couldn’t let him sink for too long in the pool of emotions.  Sebastian offered no reply and nervously I excused myself back towards the nook. “I’ll see what I can do to help,” I added.

Again I nestled myself into that curious nook. With no book to distract me, I searched the corners and walls once more. Fabrics frayed and moth eaten were pinned to the walls, something of faded damask in an attempt to make the small space seem cozy. Yet, it only added to the haunting feel of the husk that this room had become.

And then there was a glimmer, a reflection caught from my flashlight that sparked my interest.

A tiny case of sorts was tucked between a shelf and the tight corner of the wall. It, too, sadly didn't escape the grasp of time; though made of wood, its metal corners had rusted and wailed with grief at the hinges when I opened it. Dust was missing from its interior, much like the table bespoke of use, and what an odd mechanism it was. The mechanical intestines reminded me of clocks. Interlocking gears and springs that helped to make whatever it was destined to function. The odd device was a puzzle, a mystery I knew I could solve and help my partner with—after all, this was my forte. It was the sole reason why Sebastian kept me near.

He was the bloodhound who found the trail and clues, and I was the catalyst who put the clues together by replacing what was missing.

I was his brain, and I was his well of answers for his neverending nightmares of riddles.

Yet, a well too had its own depths. To take pleasure in knowing there was use and assistance to feed and offer growth to where my answers reached; watering the parched. There would be a time when the innocent—his innocent hand would come to fetch answers from me, to find my sustenance low, and for he to fall in to me for his carelessness and hunger for more.

However, a time for such dark thoughts would be put aside by the sweeping of another page turned from the journal.

From what I could see, it was a peculiar system. My eyes strained in the playfulness of the shadows despite my flashlight there to help me. The interlocking chambers and flow of the device’s veins were complex and interesting—but nothing seemed amiss.

And then I saw it. Lodged between a thread of copper was a shred of paper. Balancing the flashlight to my neck and shoulder, I reached to coax the teeth of the gear to relent its grip. Oh, how my hands trembled once again with the delicate procession! I didn’t want the paper to suffer more than it already had. But, I had done it, with my poor lip mourning the same punishment the paper had between my teeth.

Exhaling deeply, I studied my victory.

It too was embellished with the handwritten signature of Sebastian's wife. I would need the journal again.

“Sebastian,” I called.

No answer.

“Sebastian,” I begged to silence, “I need to see the journal once more—I promise I will give it back.”

“Joseph,” beckoned Sebastian. His shoulders hunched, head bowed as he relented his wife’s journal and pushed it away from himself. “Please help me.”

His tone was submissive and weak. It was in such frail moments that I could not resist helping him, pushing aside my own pride or anger for his mistakes.  The expression of shame on his face was one I too was familiar and intimate with. I would never utter a word to him or anyone about it, his sigh and turn from me was a pattern that I had been given privacy to embrace. One only we would share together and no one else.

“I’m here for you,” came my determined words. For I would not dare to turn my back upon Sebastian when he needed help in such a delicate state.

Again at the table, I pulled the journal towards me. Carefully, I flipped through the pages to find the matching pattern of the ripped edge. From what little parts that remained on the sample I had, I noticed the word choice to be elegant—well thought out and versed. A poem, I would soon discover as my diligence had paid off. Shuddering with the discovery, I glanced up to Sebastian whom had wandered off to a wall decorated with hanging pictures. His hand moved to rub at his arm idly from thought or an attempt to bring warmth to himself, I was unsure. But the sensation of being watched again tickled at my spine. Perhaps it too haunted him?

Gingerly I took the journal back in my grasp, my flashlight now tucked into my armpit. My heart began to beat rampartly, for I knew I would solve this puzzle easily.

The poem praised words of courage and strength. Of fear and longing, or suffering of a soul who found solace in the embrace beneath a magnolia tree upon the summers’ eve. Inhaling swiftly, my chest tightened with the discovery of the answer so eloquently buried between words.

Thickly I swallowed, balancing the book and its torn piece within my hand as I fumbled for the magnolia key.

Patience fled from my body as I once more looked to the odd box upon the wall intently, and demanded silently where the key would fit.

Again I consoled the poem. There was a waltz, an orchestra of wild flowers, and an eternal embrace.

But what would such an intricate key, a box, and this poem have in common?

Then, I heard it.

The hum Sebastian would heave when defeat was imminent and his desire to step away and refresh his mind was impending.

Eyes fluttering shut, I teased and taunted every brain cell to strive for the answer before it was too late. Subconsciously I clenched my jaw tight—how many times had I studied those gears, those ribbons, and twine! Time would not wither away from me; the stressing hum Sebastian sang, I refused to let time escape me.

  
Bumping my glasses up the bridge of my nose in my own growing frustrations, I closed the box. Perhaps a new angle would enlighten me. Glowering and scowling at its artistic frame, it was then I lectured myself to calm, and collect myself. It would not due to lose my focus. And as I did, I was struck with the epiphany that the case had been made of wood—perhaps magnolia?

With excitement afoot, I bowed before the box. After all, it was beneath the magnolia did this person find solace.

Everything seemed to fall into place, and suddenly I was struck with what to do. There was a keyhole beneath the box.

My lips pulled into a smile and all too eagerly, I fitted the key and turned—and turned—and turned.

Instinct told me to let go. So I did.

I watched in awe as the gears turned, the twine pulled, and the copper sheet moved to be fed to the awaiting feet strewn upon a frame within the box. Suddenly my ears fell deaf from the tickle of notes, from the gurgling moan of the Earth shaking—waking from its long slumber. Quickly I braced myself to the damask wall forgetting about the flashlight in hopes of keeping to my word of returning the journal safely. The lights shuddered and whispered in panic with their flickers and dims, and then—music blossomed and assaulted our ears, and the trembling stopped.

Notes fluttered in a dance around us, humming and swaying in a waltz.  
A tune I was familiar with, one that played during the winter seasons; a showpiece in the ballet of Christmas magic. The tune often played at the little holiday parties Sebastian and his wife hosted once upon a time. Yet no warmth encompassed me—only the cold grip of fear.

Fear in knowing that perhaps the journal and the melody triggered a relapse in Sebastian, to see something I couldn’t, but had the privilege to witness. And as I looked at him in grief, as fear sunk its cold, silvery claws upon the nape of my neck and ran down my spine, I knew I had neglected my duties to protect Sebastian from the hallucinations of seeing his departed wife.

Briskly I pushed from the wall, mindful of the rocks that scattered the floor and the dust and dirt that hovered around me in hopes I would find him, before he found trouble.  My heart ached and berated my chest for my foolishness, lecturing me for my negligence and bargaining with my mind to resolve the situation with little repercussion.

I called to him, “Sebastian!”

“Sebastian, answer me!” I demanded in worry. But the room was empty.

Withholding a choked whimper, I braced my hand to the table while clutching the diary to my ribs with the other. Panic seeped in my body, boiling with a fast and frigid consumption. Steadiness and peace was leaving me—I could tell by the tingling of my fingertips.

“Oh god,” I pleaded in a harsh exhale, “dammit—why!” But I knew why. For I was a well filled with answers with no room for the questions to settle but the bottom of my deep, darkest, pit.

Somewhere in drowning, I heard the echo of a fallen rock. It reverberated down into the room, singing from the tunnel we had arrived from.  
Ignoring the frivolous music playing from the box, I fled the room in that direction, towards * _my_ * answer.

It was a winding and slithering corridor of rock and rubble; wooden frames now bent with pressure. Momentarily, I wondered if I was traversing back down the path we previously wandered, or if I was running deeper and deeper into the belly of a starved serpent.

“Sebastian, can you hear me?!” came my cry.

“Sebastian where the hell are—” I choked, for there he was. Filial lantern in his hand, flickering as a beacon to me.  Despite my relief, I did not find solace in seeing Sebastian again. There was that shadow again! The figure of a man who had haunted him every so often since our arrival to this place.  This ‘man’ was not saintly, yet he dared to dress in garbs of white with a shawl over his head. His eyes were not kind—this ‘man’s’; they were hot. Simmering with a rage and hunger for vengeance, a desperation for answers—for repentance. I couldn’t let Sebastian wander to this man in white, this wolf in sheep's clothing.

But it was a game. A sick and twisted game that this man played.

Always, he would pluck Sebastian from me, whisk him away with a siren’s call to a place I did not know, with promises whispered that I had no right to hear.  And always, before Sebastian would fall into his grasp, he would wait—stall even. He wanted me to witness this defiance to my company. To see the panic upon my face and the fear in my eyes.  Oh—and how when our eyes would meet, this man would smile and his eyes would dance in pleasure at my pain, my suffering. His blazing gaze would strike me and fill me with a molten heat that would abade the cold of fear, and brand me with something I know not. But it seethed within me, whispered hauntingly to me a promise that our emotions would be shared together.

“Sebastian, come back to me!” I shouted again.

Nevertheless, I would fight. I would ignore the burning gaze and protect Sebastian, for it was the least I could do. My steps were quick and my reach desperate as I clutched  to my partner, to hinder his trance and pull him back. I would not let him go to that apparition for as long as I existed, for as long as I had the strength and will.

“Joseph?” paused Sebastian. A shiver prickled his skin,then came a snap of his head over his shoulder to stare at me. Gone was the saintly ‘man’ who stood before him.

There was hope in his eyes, and fear too…

I could see that loneliness seeking a familiar comfort and compassion—seeking me. And yet, his gaze all but pierced right through me. It drooped down to the earth where his lantern illuminated the journal, just as my flashlight did for me.

I stood there, watching as Sebastian knelt to the ground to pick it up. His eyes concentrated and searched, fingertips caressing the bound leather. He looked momentarily lost.

There, I stood and observed him rise, swallow his pain, and look forward with determination. Step forward—through me.

“I’ll find you, Joseph,” I heard him promise, alone, to himself.

I stood there, as Sebastian walked through me with a stubbornness to keep to his promise.

I watched as he walked down the corridor, walked out of the belly of this serpent, and back into the room with the riddle I had answered. With the book I had found in his hand, with a guidance… I had left behind. For I was never there with him to begin with.

Sebastian was alone, for I was gone.

End.

* * *

 


End file.
